Cryoseism
by ThePsychoVamp
Summary: Weeks after the battle with the newborns, Edward is found lying on the road, barely conscious, with no memories bearing down on his defenses. Without any sort of guilty attachment towards Jacob. Or any patience for him for that matter... A tale of a boy just shy of breaking under his own weight and another who just wants to understand him - and himself. ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.
1. Prologue

**A.N.: Ok, before you start reading, I'd like you to know that, at a first glance, this has already been done, i.e. the core of the idea has already been picked up by some authors here. BUT, since my favorite person on Fanfiction asked me to dig into my memory and bring back the few paragraphs that I wrote on my dad's computer before it broke down **_**years **_**ago, I decided that, yes, she certainly deserves to read another story like this. And so here it is. The idea that I had so long ago ready to develop into something which I hope you'll find enjoyable enough, even though I promised myself that I wouldn't publish anything until I finished my other stories and had this one all ready to be updated regularly. The truth is that I've been waiting to get this out for ages, and really – I promise I WILL finish Mockingbird. There's no way I'd let it hang when we're so near the finish line.**

**Anyway, people, I hope you enjoy this. This is just the prologue, and hopefully I'll publish the first chapter some time during the next week, but until then I'd be very happy if you left me some feedback.**

**And as for you, Chloe, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY LOVELY!**

**As you all know, I don't technically own the characters, though in my mind Edward is more or less my heteronym. Go figure. Oh – you can find the banner on my profile page. And I really think you should go check it.**

**()**

The road that led to the center of town sailed through a wide expanse of woodland, framed by smothering trees, under a bleak morning sky that wept onto Charlie Swan's forehead a slight drizzle. He stared through the humidity-ridden air at the crowd of firs on the other side of the road and became even more aware of something not quite right about the present atmosphere, felt the raindrops on his skin like the faint touch of something from another realm.

Strange – Billy was the superstitious one. The matinal tiredness that he was still rubbing off his eyes, coupled with the unusual opaqueness of the silver Volvo a few yards away, was most likely misting his access to rationality.

He made the passenger door of his cruiser snap shut, and the sound pierced through the fog in his head, clearing out the feeling of unearthly wrongness that'd been tingling behind his eyes, and then he was back to his coherent self. The car in front of him was immediately associated with a familiar face, one he didn't much like, but for the moment he put his aversion aside, because–

Something was wrong. The car was empty.

Charlie walked around his cruiser with his hand reaching beneath his patrol jacket, into the inside pocket, where he kept his bottle of pepper spray, readying himself for the possible appearance of a wild animal, or a meeting with humanity's personified flaws, even though that wasn't likely to happen. Forks was definitely not known for its high levels of criminality.

He took a few more steps forward, approaching the vacant Volvo. The passenger door was open, allowing in a sudden gust of wind, and though Charlie did not agree with his daughter's choices his sense of decency prevented him from seeing this as a trivial inconvenience, a pointless interruption of his day. The wind rustled through the surrounding foliage again, and it made the spotless leather of the seats seem as if it were dead, like at some point it'd been sentient, looking simply too black and clean for such a situation.

Something had happened to Edward. People didn't just leave their cars like that, in the middle of the road, and disappeared into–

Charlie stalled. He could clearly hear someone nearby, could hear them breathe as if their lungs were filled with fluid. The sound was not unlike a series of shallow exhales in his ear, so near, and instantly he looked around for its source, quickly forgetting about the pepper spray, and when he couldn't find it his body moved towards it. He went around the silver bumper, the (he noticed then) shining headlights, following the noise until his eyes came upon a freezing sight.

"Jesus Christ."

He had no idea how he hadn't see him before, through the space between the bottom of the car and the tar underneath. His attention had failed him, preventing him from tending to him sooner, while Edward lay curled up on his side, wheezing, his arm stretched out on the ground like an inanimate piece, incapable of moving, retreating.

Charlie quickly crouched next to him, feeling his heartbeat thud in his throat. Impulsively, he lifted the boy's upper body off the ground and pushed it gently against the metallic grey of the car, where his reflection flashed distortedly.

"Edward!" he said loudly, gripping his shoulder to keep him from falling. His hand found the kid's jaw and held it in place, and he tried not to wince at the blood under his skin. The blood that'd dried on Edward's chin. "Talk to me, son."

His pale forehead wrinkled slightly under a disarray of red locks, while his eyelashes fluttered weakly over the dark circles below. Charlie's hope that his words were making any difference wavered dangerously inside his thundering chest. He nearly tore his jacket pocket open while he retrieved his cell phone, navigated through his contacts with trembling fingers, brought it up to his ear wondering what in the hell had happened to Edward's mouth for it to be covered in _blood_.

There hadn't been an accident and the rest of his face was intact, so–

"Hello?" Carlisle Cullen's voice punctured his swelling bubble of stupefaction. "Charlie? Is everything alright with Bella?"

Always so quick to offer their help, to show their concern. The Cullens were a family too good to be true, and the manner in which they'd embraced his daughter as if she were one of their own was at the same time comforting and terrifying.

"Yes," he said, and because with Bella one just never _knew_ he muttered, "I hope so."

Edward's lips shook against each other, in what Charlie assumed to be an attempt to speak, and he focused on the matter at hand, the reason why he'd called.

"It's your son." For the first time, it was someone else's kid. A kid who – Charlie had to admit – clearly had a sense of responsibility, especially over his daughter, whose tendency to search for danger seemed startling and dizzying, like neon lights in the night, against his obvious preoccupation with safety matters.

Which just made the situation even more confusing.

"Jasper?" The golden smoothness of Carlisle's voice bore a fearful stain.

Charlie blinked in surprise, and his feeble attempt to remember exactly which one of them was named Jasper fell exhausted before it could reach success. He blinked again to clear out his thoughts, face contorted upon the realization that whatever worries Carlisle had been facing regarding his other children would be joined by this.

"No, it's Edward. He– I found his car in the middle of the road, but he wasn't inside and… He's here with me. I think he needs help."

A moment of silence ensued. Edward's face ensnared a flickering frown, as if he were trying to respond to Charlie's voice by crawling his way out of the abyss that unconsciousness had thrown him into. Charlie's thumb pressed against a spot on his throat, and he felt, relieved, a steady pulse kicking his flesh.

"Could you please pass him the phone?"

Charlie sighed. It'd be better to tell him right now, and he'd probably hurry up or perhaps tell him what to do. Edward was alive, breathing better, incredibly, his heartbeat strong and certain, but he clearly wasn't okay and Carlisle needed to do something soon.

"Well, you see, he's not really conscious, and his mouth is covered in blood–"

"Where are you?" Carlisle cut him off, and the urgency of the question yanked the information needed out of Charlie's mouth. Meanwhile Edward's lashes trembled in a sudden spurt of drowsy energy. "I'm on my way," he assured then, and a click signaled the end of the call. Somewhere in the distance the sound of twigs cracking pulled Charlie's head towards the looming forest, an agglomerate of trees drenched in cold steam and darkness, and he had to wonder who was out there. If they were responsible for this.

"Edward," he called lowly, needing to ask, needing to know, edging towards the thought that maybe he should drag the boy into his cruiser and drive away, someplace safe. The woods emitted through an odd croaking a spine-chilling hostility. "Edward, can you hear me?"

The eyelids that'd been creasing and flattening as he spoke lifted almost too abruptly, too quickly – or perhaps Charlie had just been expecting to see a pair of familiar brown eyes (either too light or too dark), and the auroral green with which he was faced instead forced him to lean back in surprise.

It vaguely occurred to him that something about the boy himself was different. He didn't try to figure out what it was exactly, because the green eyes had regained focus and were now poised over his face, like searchlights, framed by a pale face seemingly trapped in a state of languid confusion.

"Son, do you remember what happened?" Charlie's hand on his shoulder was not an anchor anymore, but more of an invader of his personal space, judging from the way he subtly tried to shy away from it, an edge of indiscernible unease present on the slight redness of his cheeks.

A first – he didn't remember having seen Edward Cullen blush before. Ever. Not even when Charlie's questions held a provoking tone behind them. Not even when he stopped watching a game and almost twisted his neck to glare at the kid when he stepped into his house. His polite grace seemed to be almost ingrained in his nature, never faltering, never skipping a beat of Charlie's sense of time. Always kept intact, in a ceaseless state of perfection.

Edward pulled his knees up, his hand curled into a fist by his side, fingers pale and thin and tightly coiled against the asphalt. During his training to be a police officer, Charlie had attended enough lectures to now infer from the boy's posture that he'd gone into self-defense mode.

His green eyes darted between a spot inside the woods and Charlie's expectant face. At last his head moved from left to right, ever so subtly, and he had his answer.

"Okay, then…" Charlie nodded, still needing to know, because the woods were foggy and dark and the strangest smell permeated the air. "What's the last thing you remember?"

It probably wasn't very good, judging from the troubled frown that fell like a tombstone onto his face.

"I remember– I was in the hospital…"

Charlie patiently waited for him to continue, but apparently Edward was the one waiting, eyes so wide and green – a green alight with anticipation, with a sort of ragged innocence which flickered there like a candle flame in the pitch dark – that he had to look away, uncomfortable, for just a second.

He thought about the answer for a moment and became confused.

"Alright. Were you there to see your father?" he asked, because it was the most logical explanation. Edward, the four-point-oh student, had somehow stumbled over his grammar knowledge.

"Yes." The dense air pushed violently through the trees and overrode the minute sound of his voice, but Charlie heard a scintilla of uncertainty there. "I suppose– yes."

A tremble rocked the boy's body, and then he was curling in on himself, bright eyes bouncing from place to place until they landed on Charlie's. That raw vulnerability had faded amidst their width, behind the wariness that returned to them, and Charlie was thankful for that but didn't know why.

"Are you cold?" he asked. Edward glanced down at his gray shirt, like it'd been put there suddenly, and shivered through the small nod that he gave him. Charlie removed his jacket quickly and held it up rather awkwardly. "Here. Put this on."

Edward eyed the piece of clothing like it was a golden box keeping locked a bunch of snakes, guardedly fascinated by the offer, and after a moment of hesitancy he slipped his arm through one the sleeves.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his tense posture unraveling under the dark blue jacket, and Charlie heard an unnatural amount of gratitude in those two words. Unnatural because – in the times that ran kids had a god-awful tendency to take things for granted, and their thank-you's were more often than not a mere forefront for a general lack of feeling.

But obviously Edward was not like most kids.

Charlie scratched the side of his face, feeling a blur take over his mind. Now that the adrenaline had worn off and Edward was out of visible danger, he sensed a change in his relation to his daughter's boyfriend, his annoyance gone small amidst the confusing smear that replaced the rigid architecture of his opinions. Of course – he didn't want the kid hurt, no matter how much he'd hurt his daughter. But, there was something more.

It was just that the look Edward had given him, that scared expectation burning in all that green, made him wonder if perhaps he hadn't suffered just as much.

But then Bella's screams reverberated through his head, howls splintering inside his skull like glass shards, and this guy was the one at fault, the one who'd caused her that much pain, the reason why Charlie had sat awake night after night wondering what in the hell a father was supposed to _do_.

Perhaps Carlisle had wondered the same thing.

His black Mercedes rumbled in the distance, and moments later appeared around the curve of the mostly deserted road and stopped a short distance from them with a dry screech. Charlie blinked away the glaze that'd fallen over his eyes.

"Your dad's here. Come on," he said, slipping his hand under Edward's arm. They stood up in tempo with Carlisle's immediate appearance – Charlie didn't remember seeing him walk in their direction, but suddenly there he was, standing so close, eyes wide and bright against a white face caught in a sort of fearful shock.

"Edward."

The boy turned around like a spintop set in motion and then held in place, freezing upon the sight of his father, and the two stared at each other as if–

As if it was the first time they'd ever done it, until a spark of recognition flashed across Edward's face, setting ablaze the hope that Charlie had seen there before.

When he spoke his voice was a confused mumble:

"Dr. Cullen?"


	2. Prayer

**A.N.: People, thanks so much for the faves, follows and reviews. Really. And since you're reading this, you might as well check out reallyhatebananas' new story, because she writes beautifully and has beautiful ideas and is beautiful herself. So. Anyway, I hope you like this first chapter and I'd be very grateful if you left me something in that box at the end, because, yes, I like to be pampered. Don't we all?**

**()**

Sweat. Shimmering under the copper locks that fluttered over his forehead, through the darker threads of his hairline. Freckles, scattered across flushed skin like stellar remnants in a galaxy sprawled over a ruddy nebula. Eyes like fractured gemstones missing the old familiarity that Carlisle had become so used to, that'd been present there until–

Until this morning.

His hands touched the sides of the boy's face, and his temperature– God, his temperature was normal for a human, but Carlisle felt the pulsing softness of his flesh fizzle burningly against his ice-cold skin like the rage of a deadly fever. Like an explosion pushing him through the open air and sending him back in time until he was bent over the deathbed of an orphaned boy, about to sink his teeth into the drumming vein on the side of his neck.

And that same vein, which for so long had been so still, wavered minutely now, around the blood that ran through it, and Carlisle was frozen, unable to draw his gaze away. Edward's heartbeat vibrated inside his head like a childhood song resurging in his life through a familiar beat. A hum that seemed to dance on his skin.

"Edward," he said again, remembering Charlie, humans, the never-ending need to keep up appearances. "Tell me what's wrong, son. Are you feeling faint?"

He knew right away that wasn't the problem. Edward's eyes had widened to accommodate the vision of the last doctor that'd treated him, glimmering as fluidly as coastal waters covered in sunlight. He was fully awake, fully conscious – fully alive. And his green gaze held onto what it saw as if Carlisle were gravity itself.

As if his words weren't even registering in his mind.

"My father– is he here? Where is he?" A bone structure a hundred times more fragile than before pressed against Carlisle's immobile hands. He dropped them immediately, and Edward turned his head towards Charlie. "He-he said… Where is he?"

And then he was doing it again – looking at him like he was supposed to tell him that, yes, his father was right there, around the corner, alive and well. And both he and the chief carried on their stunned faces a growing helplessness, and their eyes met, gold facing dark brown, mirroring each other's horror. Suddenly Edward didn't seem so alive anymore, his paleness eclipsing the blush that'd crawled over his cheeks, startling, wan – for Carlisle he'd become a ghost, a soul lost and forgotten, unable to find the light, and the blood on his chin…

Evidence. A sign that it hadn't been a peaceful death. _At all_.

It was nineteen-eighteen again and Edward was suffocating, choking on the bloody froth that'd flooded his mouth.

"Son," Carlisle whispered, swallowing around the iron bar in his throat. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening. _Not possible. Impossible. _"Does your head hurt? Are you feeling dizzy?"

"I… No," Edward stammered, gaze cast down at last, and his fingers reached up to touch the crimson stain below his mouth. Carlisle knew it wasn't _his _blood – it'd been leeched from an elk and brought up in the midst of something never heard of before. A miracle. A curse. Something he had yet to read about.

"He was having trouble breathing when I found him," Charlie said slowly, standing beside them like a foreign piece, an element which didn't belong there.

"Thank you for calling me, Charlie."

The chief nodded with a simple shrug. _Just doing my duty._

Of course, he couldn't possibly _understand_, couldn't quite grasp the importance of what he had done. He'd prevented them from dealing with the risk of exposure. From having to answer any sort of question that could float around if something… less human inside Edward's body were discovered. Because this had never happened before, and he couldn't– Carlisle couldn't find any scientific explanation for a change that was bound to bring enough trouble as it was. Edward _looked _human, _smelled _human, made flow through the molecules in the air a scent so light most vampires would be nearly indifferent, which was probably a sign that–

"Wow! Easy, kid!" Charlie rushed to steady the boy as he swayed, his hand curving around his shoulder. Edward's body sagged against his father's, and Carlisle took a moment too long to react, because just _then_ he'd seemed fine, not good as new, but…fine. And _now _he struggled to find his footing, blinking quickly, frenetically, the faded red leeched entirely from his cheeks, his blood going around his insides with too little sugar in it.

But, Carlisle _knew, _just from that faint scent, that it wasn't tainted with disease.

"Shouldn't we get him to the hospital?" Charlie asked uncertainly, brown eyes straying to the scarlet marsh on Edward's skin.

Carlisle shook his head, casting a vampire-quick glance at the same-colored, larger spot on the ground.

All that'd been left for the venom to consume had poured out through his mouth. Edward's body had rid itself of what kept vampires strong, in control, and was now craving–

Human food.

"No, it'll take too long," the doctor said, his brain registering all this in barely a second, just in time for him to reply to Charlie's question without delay. "I'm taking him home. Would you do me a favor?"

"Sure. Anything," Charlie assented, probably too overcome by the situation to really think about what his words implied. Fortunately Carlisle didn't mean to ask _anything _too eccentric.

"Would you please wait here until Alice and Jasper arrive? God, I hate to interrupt their date, but I'm afraid it really is necessary… Edward wouldn't have wanted his car to stay here like this."

In fact he _wouldn't _have, but the way Carlisle expressed the idea bothered him somewhat. _Wouldn't have wanted._

As if Edward, his apprentice, his son_, _was– _gone_.

"Of course," Charlie muttered, giving him a short nod, unaware of Carlisle's relief, the yawning desperation to get Edward out of there, far away from the outer world, the panic he had to suppress while he was still within view.

The force with which his foot pressed down on the pedal as he sped through the outskirts of the smothering town.

"Alice, do you know what's going on?"

There was a worrying quiver weaving through her voice as it filtered through the speaker:

"_I don't– I'm sorry. His future became oddly blurry yesterday, and at first I thought it had something to do with the wolves, but apparently I was wrong… Carlisle, he doesn't _remember, _does he_?"

Her father tightened his hold on the steering wheel and eyed the slim figure in the passenger seat with a feeling that the fear welling up in his throat would burst through his mouth. Edward's fingers were carved into the leathered cushion, his head dangling between his shoulders like that of a hanged man.

"It may be temporary," he whispered back. The world outside shifted into a smear of lifeless colors, a misty grey blurring out a green that suddenly seemed so _dull._ "Have you seen anything else?"

"_Well, for now his future depends on what you decide to do. He's not making any decisions._"

"No. He's too out of it," Carlisle said quietly, and watched Edward's head lift slowly, his eyes get lost and trapped somewhere beyond the windshield.

"_Rosalie will be furious."_

"I will deal with her when the time comes."

"_Yes. You will." _Her tone brightened, and he imagined her smiling but couldn't do the same.

"Don't take too long, Alice. Charlie is waiting."

"_Not to worry, Dad. I'm almost there,_" she said, just as he swerved the car around the curve made by a familiar driveway, the one that led to his house, and they hung up almost simultaneously. Carlisle made to put his cell phone back into the inside pocket of his blazer, until he found Edward staring oddly at it.

Beneath the vitreous film over his eyes shone a flicker of curiosity.

"It's a cell phone," he clarified, and felt strange, because normally he was the one who discovered through his children what the next gadget was supposed to do. They were the ones in contact with the blooming generations. "Much like the telephone, it's used to communicate through spoken language. Over… greater distances."

Edward leaned back against the seat, the hypoglycemia draining him of strength to sit upright. Carlisle expected him to black out again, or succumb to a state of verbal unresponsiveness, and he was surprised when amidst the silence a faint voice said, "How much greater?"

He parked the car in front of his house with a mechanic set of movements, felt the outer world turn gray and strange as if everything he'd ever known was paling in comparison to the darkness gone dense inside the car. But, of course, all of this was abstractionism, unreal, what the disappearance of Edward's memories was _doing_ to him.

_Impossible. Not possible._

"It enables you to speak to someone on the other side of the world," he murmured.

Edward blinked, long lashes flogging the air, and the sound was a soft exhale slipping into Carlisle's ear. He sat staring for a while at the logo on the steering wheel, the circle that chased endlessly a silver shine, the three prisms within – a shape which dated back to a time when Edward had been convinced that humans were the supreme predators.

Carlisle hadn't known him before the influenza struck down his family, but after the change, after a few months spent with him, he'd come to learn that the vague misanthropy in his eyes had built over the emerald-green and frozen into the blood-red.

Vampirism had made him see more, but that didn't mean he'd been blind as a human.

"Good Lord, what's happened?" Esme whispered, and rushed to meet her husband at the door, a pale hand reaching out for the handful of copper threads that'd fallen over their son's forehead.

"He fainted," Carlisle said, knowing he'd failed to answer the real question. A tropical storm encased in amber strayed up through the look in his wife's eyes.

But then Edward shivered in his arms, and she looked down. Her fingertips dropped soft and ice-cold onto his brow, a breath caught in her throat though she could go without air for all eternity, and the storm was soaked up into damp light, her gaze warm and golden over an imaginary sunrise.

"Carlisle," she breathed. "Is he…?"

"I'm afraid so."

They weren't clashing – not yet. But a subtle sort of friction came between them, perturbing the way they so smoothly fit into each other. Carlisle had Edward's dim scent stuck in his throat, crossing it like a knife, and his heartbeat resonated through his head and tore at the roots of his blonde hair, and Esme– Esme just couldn't _see_ into the future, didn't realize how much of an impact this would have on their lives.

Her eyes smiled through the wonder that treaded through the liquid gold, and Carlisle was sure that if she were human–

If she were human she would've been crying.

"He looks– a bit too pale," she observed, her face falling slightly.

He walked around her frozen form towards the living room couch, where he laid Edward's limp body.

"Could you go and get him some sugar water?" he asked, and she was gone in a fraction of a second, leaving in her wake a phantom-scent, Carlisle's recreation of the smell that surrounded human women during their fertile periods.

She loved him already. Or– she s_till _loved him, maybe more, with all his weaknesses and fragilities and the venom that Carlisle had shared with him gone from his body.

He thought of a revolution and a civil war raging all at once inside a sound-proof nest. For some reason.

"Here." Esme handed him a glass, crystal and spotless, translucent against the shock of red on Edward's chin, which seemed suddenly to be moving, slithering, glinting like a blood river, over his pale skin.

His son had awakened, parted his chapped lips for the influx of water, and as he drank the solution Carlisle heard a quiet gulp, saw a pair of trembling hands reach up for the glass and hold it in a grip so tight and yet so feeble, like a child's, like his hands would get broken faster than they could break the glass, that he ended up putting it away without warning.

Edward, unprepared, let a little brook dart out of his mouth and counter the edge of his chin, run down the softer flesh of his throat.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Esme asked after a minute, her lips moving towards the curve of a smile but trapped in dazed surprise. She'd never seen his eyes like this…

"I am…" Edward swallowed, "… better. Thank you," he whispered, face shy, cheeks covered in dawning skies, pink and velvety, lying amidst all those freckles, and a scent imbued in sweetness but with a dash of bitter, like the smell of lemon balm, started to thicken in the air.

Carlisle slipped his arm around his mate's shoulders, tense, unable to stop thinking, to catch up with his own thoughts, and hoping that Esme just wouldn't take it _personally. _"Edward," he said quietly. "This is my wife, Esme."

She stilled. Completely. Carlisle regretted for a second not having given her so much of a hint beforehand. A hint that Edward's memories of his life as a vampire were gone. It was just that– _were_ they really? Were they gone? Or did he remember bits and pieces of one reality and diluted fragments of another?

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," Edward said, looking at her and shrinking somewhat, the red on his cheeks deeper, his scent stronger, and a ghost of a wince appearing on his face. As if he wasn't certain whether he should have said that.

Esme was turning her face to him and trying to _ask, _eyes still dragging the vision of her son as they moved in his direction, and she was– She couldn't _speak. _And Carlisle was apologizing silently and hoping, praying, that she could see it in the slightly marred marble of his face.

"May I ask…" Edward began, and Carlisle focused on him again. "Is this very far away from Chicago?"

It was Esme who replied, voice made flat by his previous words, and the world was colder and darker without her usual warmth.

"Yes."

"The town is called Forks," Carlisle rushed to inform, seeing those green irises begin to disappear under the booming of his pupils. "It's not too far from Seattle. Do you know where that is?"

Edward pressed his lips together in a tight half-smile which reminded him so much of who he had been _yesterday_ that… Carlisle was at once submerged in relief and wonder, because this was proof that vampires were little more than frozen humans. They didn't change. Much.

"Yes, I do," he said slowly, a dash of wounded arrogance in his tone.

"Alright," the doctor sighed, and let his elbows poise over his knees, felt a bit of nervous laughter rise up in his throat. "Alright. This is our home. You _live _here."

Edward blinked.

"Since when?"

He could see Esme's mouth twist its way through the stillness of her whole body to say something that the boy probably wouldn't understand, and so he replied before she could:

"Not until recently, actually."

The reddish tint on Edward's eyebrow glinted like a penny as it curved upward.

"Why am I unable to recall any of that?"

Carlisle settled for the truth, because Edward, vampire or not, was much more adept at reading people than the average person, and obviously hadn't believed him. And the truth was still a kaleidoscopic smear, the theories fresh and varied and full of potential. There were no probabilities. He and Edward were on the same page.

"Honestly, I don't have a single clue. You don't appear to be suffering from any traumatic brain injury. Is your head in pain?"

"No," he said, and Carlisle remembered the disoriented state in which he'd found him. "It isn't."

"Perhaps we should run some tests. Would you be as kind as to accompany me to my office?"

Redundant – Edward was absolutely fine. His blood pressure was still just a trifle too low, but the rest of him, his every sense, was as good as new, his organs _working_ and clenching and unclenching to keep everything in order. His lungs… His lungs sounded fine.

"No signs of concussion…" Carlisle muttered, for the sake of appearances, as he shone a light into Edward's eyes. The pupils constricted, swallowed by a pale green which touched faintly an even paler blue. "Well, it looks as if you're perfectly healthy. Are you hungry? Esme is probably making something for you to eat at the moment."

Edward slid down the wooden fitment that'd been pushed against the wall, surveying with a wondering gaze the bookcases all around.

"I would prefer to wait, if neither of you mind," he said softly, eyes drawn to a golden spine, fingers hovering over the top of the old encyclopedia as if he were afraid that it would fall apart under his touch. His head lifted, then, and he cocked it to the side as he read the cluster of titles on the upper shelves. "Have you read any of these?"

"I have read all of them," Carlisle answered, and felt in Edward's innocence a yawning curiosity awaken, young and heart-warming and– dangerous.

(Because once upon a time his thirst for knowledge led him astray, and the truth twisted like a newly forged dagger inside a mind that'd frozen in its fragile state, unprepared for a deluge of thoughts polluted with moral decadence, with violent dreams, with urges that he had yet to discover himself spinning into gruesome fantasies. _What a way to be introduced to manhood_!)

But Carlisle didn't know this, nor did he wonder about it. Edward's desire to know more and more was dangerous because he wasn't like Bella, not at all, and upon discovering their secret he would…

He couldn't lose him. Not now. Not ever.

"If I may be honest," Edward said quietly, smiling and dazed as he advanced towards a different bookcase, where the works of Alighieri and Petrarch and Machiavelli were cramped together, "I've never really harbored that much of an interest for classic literature. My father collects– He used to collect mountains upon mountains of books for some reason or another, but he's never actually read them. I've always blamed work, so I'm surprised _you _have found the time to tend to each one of these."

Carlisle was silent.

He knew. When Charlie had found him he'd been fretting over his father's whereabouts, his speech nearly incoherent as he did, but obviously he _knew._

Carlisle took a step forward, cautious, a cloud of hot air stagnant in his lungs.

"Edward," he said carefully, "your parents–"

"Yes," the other cut him off, his body tense beneath the patrol jacket. The counters of his jawline sharpened suddenly, the knot in his throat descending and ascending like a bandalore. "I know."

There was a spider in the corner of his office. Thrumming the varnished wood of the floor. Carlisle set his gaze on the thread-thin legs of the flailing creature instead of whatever he was bound to find in Edward's eyes.

"Your mother asked me to look after you," he told him, and there was no mistaking the emotion that rang through the sound of Edward swallowing thinly. Carlisle did look up then, and frowned at the damp shine that lay over his shamrock eyes, the grounding tightness around his mouth.

"I have no doubt that she would've been very grateful," he whispered, voice trembling, thick, and Carlisle stepped closer yet, bearing on his face faint traces of second-hand sadness. Edward moved away from the bookshelf, hands coiled at his sides and nails pressed against his palms, carving crescent moons into his flesh. "I am, too," he said, his tone stronger then, and glanced up at him with a waning smile.

The soles of his shoes whined softly as he turned away. A wakening sunbeam beat at Carlisle's back and forced him to move into the shadowed part of the room, while Edward stilled upon the vision of one of his oldest possessions, the top of his head alight with coppers and golds.

"It was a gift," Carlisle explained, and suddenly he felt– like he belonged in the dark. A growing distance settling between them. The flowing of Edward's blood whooshed through his head like a river running wild towards a waterfall.

"Everything in it…" he murmured, lost in the rigorous detail of the painting, the vivid crimson swirling in Aro's eyes as he smiled down at his _court, _"…is so spectacularly _vivid._"

Indeed. The skills of the painter in question surpassed those of the most thorough of all human realists.

Carlisle grew edgier yet, because Edward was absolutely clueless, just like the rest of them, his obliviousness setting them further apart – and his scent, wafting off the excited flush that'd spread across his cheeks… It drifted across the space that was bathed in daylight, where Edward stood with his knees slightly bent, into the shadows that Carlisle had immersed himself in and right into his nose.

It was– different. Almost tempting.

Because he'd had a taste once.

"What does it mean?" Edward asked, an innocuous suspicion coloring his tone.

Carlisle blinked, and it was like– like having his soul injected back into his dead body. When he spoke his voice was deeper, his insides raw, the human side of him reaching out like a blind man for a sense of… normalcy.

"What do you think it means?"

Edward smiled, boyishly but secretly, tacitly rising to the challenge.

"These gentlemen… They all have red eyes, but yours… They've been accurately portrayed." Carlisle was at least relieved that the boy was seeing this as a symbolic piece of art. "I think, perhaps, you don't quite identify with the surrounding ambience, the people…" His voice lowered gradually, died amidst a slow inhale that got stuck in his throat. "You're unable to adapt to their way of living, their way of…thinking. It _disturbs _you, but I suppose– it _shouldn't_."

_Son, can you hear me?_

His bright gaze didn't stray from the faraway look in Marcus' eyes. Nothing seemed to indicate that his gift was still active, but Carlisle's mind had wandered back to his prolonged stay in Volterra while he spoke.

Somehow, vaguely, the information had passed through.

"It's been a long time. Things have changed since."

"How come?" Edward said quietly, shifting the focus of his attention, and Carlisle thought he was lovelier than ever in the midday sunlight, which melted goldenly onto his skin and set his hair on fire and made his eyes look like stained glass reflections.

"I have a family now," he replied absently.

The rumbling of two powerful engines snapped him out of his daze. Alice and Jasper had arrived, and there was a moment of silence that stretched too long for Carlisle to endure it unworriedly, because…

Jasper's self-control was nearly as fragile as Edward's human body.

But he ended up leaving, his tacit agreement with his mate driving him into the woods behind their house at a speed that made a frugal flock flee from the tree tops. Darkness crept again into the right side of the doctor's office, dulling down Edward's coloring, but he was still warm, pulsing flesh, youth impersonated, and that was when Carlisle realized that he couldn't change him again. Not yet, at least. And when Alice skipped into the room, scotch-hued eyes alight with wonder and excitement, he felt relieved that there was at least someone who was on his side.

Even if her reasons were different.

"Alice–" he said then, hoping that she would introduce herself in a more moderate manner, so as not to make the gap between Edward's day and the present one so evident, but, just as he'd reckoned before, his effort was in vain: she practically _threw _herself at him, flinging her thin arms around his waist, her forehead pressing against the spot on his chest that seemed to vibrate with the sound of his heartbeat.

Edward sucked in a quick breath. Bewilderment made his green eyes go wide and his cheeks turn red and his body stiffen visibly, while his hands hovered helplessly over Alice's shoulders, and Carlisle frowned confusedly at his apparent discomfort.

"_Carlisle,_" his psychic daughter whisper-yelled, releasing her brother with a graceful backward step. "May I steal him for the next few hours?"

_Oh, boy…_

"Alice, I'm not sure–"

"Please, Dad!" she cried, clasping her hands in a begging gesture. "We'll only be gone for a few hours, I promise. He needs warmer clothes anyway, and his size is _slightly _different now. Besides, someone'd better get him out of the house before Rosalie arrives. I've seen her reaction," she told him, solemnly bobbing her head. "It's not pretty."

He almost took pity on himself. Almost let his mind overlook all those matters for a few more minutes. But they pushed through the yielding barrier that surrounded his head anyway, without his consent. Rosalie would brew a storm inside their quiet house once she found out – he'd predicted that on his own.

And then there was Isabella… There was no doubt in his mind that her excitement for her awaited transformation would vanish into the pits of the underworld when she received the news that her boyfriend couldn't change her. That he couldn't even _remember _her.

"Alright," he sighed at last. If he still had to go over all this then it would be wise to do it without Edward around.

Alice squealed in delight. "Thank you so much! I'll bring him back before seven."

That was _not _'a few hours'. Edward seemed to share his opinion on that, though he didn't object – in fact he didn't even speak, his eyes still darting between the two of them in a mildly panicked manner.

"Come on. You still have to see your room," she said, grabbing his hand to– more or less drag him out of the office.

"Alice, at least let him eat something before you go…"

"Yes." Her voice chimed through the hallway like a Swedish herd call. "_After _he's seen his room."

**()**

Esme was sitting on one of the counter stools when he walked into the kitchen. The rain pounded against the glass window that peeked at the looming forest behind the house, almost ear-splitting against the silent tension that surrounded his wife's hunched form.

"Sweetheart."

Carlisle laid his hand on the small of her back. The texture of her tweed dress felt rough underneath his fingertips, the gentle waves of her spine so still under his palm, and she seemed– utterly lost. The mere sight of her was far more bothersome than the hot ache in his throat after breathing in Edward's scent.

"He said he liked my mashed potatoes," she said suddenly, and her ribcage seemed to quiver beneath the cream-colored tweed, shudder softly around her defrosted lungs. "Do you think he was just being polite?"

"No, I have no doubt in mind that he enjoyed it to the last bite."

Esme released a quiet laugh that tinkled through his head and assured him that she was already recovering from the shock, that it wasn't as bad as he'd first assumed. Smiling expectantly, he slipped his hand under the caramel locks that adorned the slight roundness of her shoulder and caressed the skin that covered her collarbone with tentative fingers.

"How would you know that?"

"Everything you make must certainly taste like love."

Esme giggled, reminding him of the sixteen-year-old girl he'd met years before her change, and after her laughter died down a certain somberness fell over them.

"Carlisle," she said suddenly. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know, but perhaps–"

Of course. His passion for medicine often overshadowed the superstitious side of him, and up until now he hadn't considered any explanations besides those that would be accepted by the scientific community.

The Quileute tribe was known for its many legends, scientifically illogical stories intertwined with the metaphysical – and yet, as he'd seen with his own eyes, some of their members _could _morph into wolves.

"What?"

"Perhaps Edward has been… praying."

Nobody would censor him. Carlisle had prayed for the return of his humanity too many times to count throughout the years that followed his change.

"That sounds–"

"Too simple. Yes, I know. But it's a possibility. I think I'd better have his blood tested before wondering about other hypotheses."

"And _whose _blood are you testing?" Emmett boomed, striding into the kitchen with a dimpled smile and a ruined shirt, stained blood-red and moss-green, and as he leaned against the fridge with his bulging arms crossed over his chest Rosalie whistled quietly to demonstrate her appreciation. In a not so lady-like manner.

Esme cut to the chase, "Your brother's."

His eyebrows met in a show of confusion. Rosalie's pale gold eyes ascended quickly to stare at the three of them, bouncing from person to person in a way that made Carlisle wish he could put off the divulgation of the most recent news.

"_Well_," Emmett drawled, "if you take into account the fact that _all _my brothers are dead, that actually doesn't make any sense."

Carlisle straightened up. "Emmett," he said sternly, the reminder that all their biological relatives (including Edward's – there was still that) were long gone pressing too heavily on his susceptibility.

"Sorry, I meant that as a morbid joke."

"Whose brother are we talking about?" Rosalie asked quietly.

"Um, Edward." Carlisle shared a look with his mate, his daughter's increasing, almost palpable, apprehension reverberating through his frigid insides. "Charlie Swan called me this morning. He said he found Edward in the middle of the road, that he needed my help. Your brother– he's okay now, but he's… different."

"What do you mean 'different'?" Emmett pushed himself off the fridge to stand by Rosalie's side. She wasn't even breathing, female intuition slowly solving the mystery until her pupils expanded with a dawning realization.

It was Esme who answered the question, her voice soft and careful. "He's human."

She and Carlisle sat very still, waiting for a reaction. Rosalie had been stunned into silence and immobility, despite having realized it before Esme said the words, until a welling tide began to rumble threateningly under her marble chest. Emmett knew better than trying to calm her down, so he retreated back to his spot near the fridge before the awaited explosion.

"_Are you fucking kidding me?!_"

"Rosalie, watch your tongue," Esme hissed.

"No, _he_'d better watch his tongue, before I rip it the hell off!" she snarled, and the soles of her boots screeched painfully against the floor as she whipped past them, slipping out of the kitchen like a north wind. Seconds later they heard the clanking of hand tools against concrete, the sound echoing in the garage for a while.

"She's going to wreck his car," Emmett affirmed, looking very sure.

Carlisle lifted his shoulders in a display of indifference. "I don't think he'll mind."

"She's going to wreck the Vanquish."

"Really, Emmett," Esme murmured, and sadness glinted like something wet in her topaz eyes. "He won't mind."

Emmett flopped down onto one of the stools, and stared at them confusedly from the other side of the counter. His silence was short-lived, though.

"Mind explaining why? As far as I know the kid loves that car."

"He's not aware of its existence." Upon Emmett's urging gaze, Carlisle finally spelled it out for him. "Edward doesn't remember anything from his vampire life."

Emmett's eyes widened exponentially upon the revelation. The metallic shrieks that'd been travelling from the garage to the kitchen ceased their torture for a moment, before the cacophony started anew, ringing out through their heads with a most unpleasant vigor.

"Does he know? I mean, does he know about _us_?"

Carlisle shook his head. "I haven't told him anything yet. And I hope none of you give it away before the right time has come."

Esme let out a long sigh. "Bella will be so upset, the poor dear."

"She can suck it up," Emmett said. With an edge of something to his voice which Carlisle understood deep inside. For the moment his oldest soon looked as mature as he actually was, his brow furrowed in frustration. "She likes to play stupid where Edward's needs are concerned, doesn't she? I bet a bit of her own poison won't harm her much."

"Emmett!" Esme hissed. "This is so unlike you. What has gotten into you?"

"I thought you liked Bella," Carlisle added, though he wasn't really siding with his wife. He also liked Bella, but that didn't prevent him from thinking that something about Bella's priorities was off. Her _mate_ bond with Edward seemed rather one-sided at times.

Emmett shrugged his broad shoulders, swiping a bit of dust off the counter with his thumb. The trembling of Carlisle's cell phone against his thigh blew the subject out of the window in a second, and when he saw Alice's name sprawled across the screen something seemed to _twist_ in the pit of his stomach.

"Hello?"

"_Carlisle, you need to call Sam Uley _right now!"

He straightened up in his seat, as he watched Emmett's hand curl into a fist near the fruit bowl.

"What's going on, Alice? What did you see?"

"_Nothing!_" Her voice vibrated inside his skull like a violin string about to snap. "_That's the problem. Our future just disappeared. Bella called me. She said that Billy was over at her house for dinner and Charlie told him about what happened this morning._"

Carlisle processed this information as calmly as possible, despite the worry that threatened to barge into his whole body and hinder his judgment.

"Billy must have told the pack about it, and they probably think that Edward has become somehow more dangerous than before."

That was… a politically correct expression. The Quileute pack would _probably _use this as an excuse to cross the boundary line and destroy his family for good, but, of course, that wouldn't look too good if Carlisle suggested once again that things be handled in a more pacific way – _before_ they could put their plans in action.

"_Carlisle, my blindness is sporadic, which means they're still deciding. We still have time to call a meeting. We need to prove to them that Edward is really human."_

He considered the few options he had, and one was so much more horrifyingly risky than the other that he didn't bother trying to oppose to what Alice was saying. Even though the thought of agreeing to this also awakened some adverse emotions.

But it was the only choice he had left.

Emmett and Esme tensed upon the sigh that was freed from his mouth, meant to placate his own conscience. At last he uttered the words that, caged inside him, weighed him down:

"They need to see it for themselves."

**()**


	3. Already Seen

Jacob was all hot energy.

At his side, his father clenched and unclenched his fist, his knuckles rising beneath the withered peel of his brown skin with every tense contraction. With each passing minute the scent of long-term addictions thickened in the air, cigarette smoke swirling faint above the rows of beer glasses on the counter, while laughter and raised voices laced with hostility rang through the dim-lit bar.

"You think they're telling the truth?" Jacob asked, not out of curiosity and certainly not because he sought out Billy's wiser opinion – in reality the question was almost a challenge, a test just to see how believable, how susceptible to skepticism, the Cullens' story actually was. And he expected his father to side with him on this, like he did with everything else.

"We'll have to wait and see," Billy answered, vague and uneasy and leaving his son to wonder what was going through his head.

He was, Jacob realized after a moment, giving himself a margin to believe, giving the Cullens the opportunity to prove the veracity of what they'd previously said, and– it then dawned on him that he was unconsciously doing the same. Or else he wouldn't be here.

But he was at the same time hoping for a lacuna in their story, a thing not matching with the other, though of course the Cullens were perfect and infallible and way too meticulous for that. They knew what limbs to puppet in order to get what they wanted.

Jacob leaned his back against the leathered cushion of the booth, suddenly growing bitter. Hyperaware of his own attempts to shake off the sense of defeat that'd been plaguing him since he'd gotten hurt.

"What? Did all of their Porsche's break down at the last minute?" he muttered. Frustration replaced with the sharpness of a whiplash the hot, anticipatory energy now withering away inside him.

He looked outside the window then, searching out a sleek car amidst the night – a night which moved idly, headlights and passers-by dragging themselves across the Port Angeles road, as a semi-urban cacophony buzzed incessant past the shield of glass like a set of underwater noises.

His perusal was cut short when across the bar a bell chimed. Dr. Cullen was pushing the door open while making– while trying to make himself invisible, the dense black of his overcoat and careful knot of his tie slithering past sideway glances and mordant smiles.

A breeze saturated with the harsh sting of scented bleach flowed across the space between them. Immediately, spontaneously, Jacob's hypersensitivity was set aflame, his perception of the outer world gone suddenly bright, speckled with detail, as his muscles stiffened upon the presence of a natural enemy, while behind the neat blonde head of the vampire the first sprouts of red-tinted hair wavered bright and free like cardinal feathers.

Jacob shifted in his seat, anticipation welling deep in his chest and shaking through his core.

"Mr. Black," Carlisle said upon reaching their table, and offered his gloved hand in greeting, no longer afraid of rejection. The memory of that same hand treating his son after he'd come home broken and in pain was still fresh in Billy's mind. "We're sorry for the delay. There were some… affairs I had to tend to beforehand."

Jacob couldn't contain his sarcasm – not that he was really making an effort. "Trying to edit your version of the facts so that it'd sound more believable?"

Billy cast him a sideways glance. A _warning_ glance. The doctor, on the other hand, smiled politely, fulfilling like he always did the role of unaffected diplomat.

"Jacob… How've you been?"

Instantly the sourness of humiliation cracked like burning coal inside him, an uncomfortable cluster of heat in his stomach. He remembered lying on his bed with his enemies offering him their unreturnable help, remembered wanting to disappear into a hole under their scrutiny, and with a glare thrown at Carlisle and his ever-patient face he swallowed dry the urge to tell him to mind his own fucking business.

He didn't need a _vampire'_s concern.

"Just peachy," he rasped.

"I'm glad." The doctor smiled – again – and suddenly moved out of focus, just the slightest bit. Just enough for Jacob's breath to still in his lungs upon the sight of his rival.

Edward looked _different_. Not unrecognizable, but definitely different. Enough for him to believe for a second that Carlisle was telling the truth.

"Edward, this is Billy Black, as you've probably already guessed, and this is his son, Jacob."

The other extended his hand, a smile that wasn't even close to reaching his eyes splayed reservedly on his face. Billy tightened his hold around it instead of actually shaking it, and appeared to almost lose sense of his surroundings as he did so, the russet richness of his skin color leeched faintly from it.

For a moment the tumult around them seemed to quiet down to a hum.

"How do you do?" Edward said, thin fingers wrapped inside the width of Jacob's palm, and even his voice was different now, scraped by the slightest rasp, and his skin was not freezing-cold or stone-hard and the throb of his steady pulse vibrated through Jacob's flesh like something from another world.

Like a supreme form of energy condensed into a beating heart.

But when they sat down, he realized there wasn't anything _surreal_ about it – quite simply, the contrast between past and present stressed the fact that Edward was now… alive.

Except– that wasn't _possible._

"_Is this a trick_?"

"Jacob," Billy grated, and his son swallowed around the rumbling sound that welled up in his throat.

Carlisle was clearly trying to smooth out his own unease.

"I understand that this must come as a shock to you."

"We have never heard of such a thing in the past," Billy added, wary eyes darting to the object of their wonder. Edward's chest rose faster and higher very suddenly, pools of red painting his pale cheeks, and Jacob saw all of this happening while a battle raged gruesomely inside his head.

"You must understand… I haven't fully dived into the reasons why this happened. It's very soon to know anything for certain."

Jacob charged almost instantly. "Then how the hell can you say that he's really human?"

It felt like pressing pause, like freezing the characters in a video game. Carlisle's lips straightened into a thin line, the marble curves of his nostrils expanding with a quiet exhale which pushed the scent of bleach further into Jacob's personal space. His scowl deepened when the sting hit the back of his throat, the embers in his vessels split in pieces as a wildfire stormed through his limbs oxygen-starved.

He felt Billy's gaze poise over the quaking of his broad shoulders, saw a pair of green eyes open wide, and remembered suddenly that Edward didn't _know_.

"It is my belief that things have changed… significantly… in a matter of hours only," Carlisle murmured. Discreetness seeped into his patient voice, which begged them in the most refined manner to keep the point of their meeting under secret.

It was none of Jacob's concern, however, whether a _vampire_ was afraid of being discovered or not.

"We need proof, leech."

"Jacob." Billy gave him a sideways glance, obviously meant to remind him that he wasn't speaking to someone of his age group.

Jacob was rather caught off guard. A long time had gone by since his father had last made him mind his manners. The unexpectedness of it tore through the red that'd fallen in a mist over his eyes, and then his limbs ceased trembling, the wolf in him cowering back into his core.

"My son is right," Billy affirmed in a neutral voice. "We need evidence that what you tell us is true."

"Mr. Black," Carlisle said quietly, white fingers laced together above the table. His yellow eyes fizzed with yet another pleading. A more urgent one. "I'm not sure how much more I can do to show you that this change doesn't present any danger as far as your tribe or the people in town are concerned."

"I apologize for the interruption," Edward said suddenly, and the other three whipped their heads towards the sound of his voice, which rang so clear, so firm – it was almost as if the sureness that he really was human and innocent had already been reached, making his unflinching intervention all the more surprising. "I can't refrain from asking – on whose behalf do you request this?"

A moment of silence ensued. The question splintered into fragments, incomprehensible, as it echoed inside Jacob's head. Like a foreign language.

He frowned. "What?"

Edward offered an unsettling smile. Unsettling because it seemed all too light considering the rock-like solidness of his tone.

"I'm sorry. Please allow me to phrase the question in clearer terms – by what _authority_ do you demand this of us?"

Again his words were met with silence. They ran like static through Jacob's head, and were answered by a screech which brought forth the wary rage from before.

"You said he didn't know," he growled.

"I don't know," Edward said, before Carlisle could voice an explanation, "what I used to be, nor was I given any hint that I was anything but human until youchanged my level of awareness. Against Dr. Cullen's wishes, if I may add. Now what I'd like to know is what your position in relation to us is, considering the manner in which you've decided to address us."

"Edward," Carlisle murmured, placating, while Jacob was kept in a state of immobility by the unwavering green that faced him. "They're only looking after their tribe."

"There's a treaty," Jacob stated, about ready to see the redhead's resolve turn to ash.

"I don't see how this treaty you speak of can possibly have any clause pertaining to a situation that nobody predicted."

Frustration swelled like lava beneath Jacob's skin, reacting to the way his offensive fell flat. Simultaneously, somewhere inside him, a certain shimmer broke out, sparks lighting up the pit of his stomach as if wanting to chase the trail left in the wake of Edward's reply.

As if wanting to catch up.

"The treaty was made to avoid a war, for your information. We could've gone after you, but we're here instead."

Edward's green eyes widened, the body that'd been slowly leaning forward retreating as if pushed by a shock wave, and Jacob breathed in deep the smell of victory.

"You admit to thinking that by not pursuing me you're doing us a favor?" he said quietly, disbelief written across the judgmental shape of his lips and the bronze purse of his eyebrows. "Who do you take me for? A criminal?"

"Oh, wait," Jacob scoffed. "Let me just go fetch the aloe vera salve for you."

"You needn't. I know my worth. But perhaps you've inflated yours beyond the limits of sensibility."

"Goodness," Jacob said flatly, "I feel hurt."

Edward's cheeks were tinged red, his irises thin circles around the expansion of his pupils, a shared excitability frothing beneath his pale skin and shining through his wide eyes. Jacob felt his insides palpitating; satisfaction swirled white-hot through the chains of neurons in his body until a ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Anyway," the redhead said, turning his face ever so subtly, raising his chin the slightest bit, and literally looking down his nose at him. "It's not my duty to assuage your fears, whichever they may be, so I suppose you will simply have to deal with them."

"Now, gentlemen," Carlisle cut in, and there was an unusual edge to his voice as he spoke. "It's best if we focus on what we're here for. Mr. Black, if you have any suggestion on how we can prove that– that Edward is really human please feel free to let us know."

Billy blinked away his pensive daze, and sighed long and hard through his nose.

Clearly there wasn't much they could ask for. Not in the present setting, and certainly not under the shadow of Edward's obliviousness.

But the truth was that– even from afar, after weeding out the prickling smell of vampire which lingered on Edward's skin and clothes, Jacob could feel dashing up his airways the usual faintness of most human scents. Some dimly sweet whiff of natural chemicals. And his skin, warm and soft, had flushed quick and drained of color and gone red again throughout the conversation, blood flowing steady inside the throb of the artery on his neck as if his heart had never ceased beating.

And he even seemed more– fragile. His frame had shrunk somewhat since the last time Jacob had seen him, and inside the grasp of his scarf the column of his throat was looking thin and white and like a set of sharp teeth could easily pierce through the now yielding flesh.

He imagined those green eyes widening in horror as the scene played out in his head, and realized that Edward was not the predator in it.

He was the prey.

Like any other pale-face Jacob had vowed to protect.

"It's fine. We don't need anything else," he said, utterly serious for a change… Until, glancing at the retreating magenta on Edward's freckle-dusted cheeks and feeling unwind in him a yen for mischief, he added, "For now."

Edward sent him a look like glaze ice, green eyes clearer than ever under a glint like the finest layer of enamel.

"Well, then, if that is all…" Carlisle trailed off, almost as if waiting for some other demand. When no one spoke up, the set of his shoulders bowed under the wool blend darkness of his overcoat. "I suppose we should be going now."

"We really _must_," Edward stressed, and stood up with his hand out and ready to be shaken. Carlisle copied his movements in a way that seemed almost flaccid, made weak by the briskness of his son's manner. "Have a good night, gentlemen."

Jacob watched the two disappear into the crowd of habitual clients with _something _– maybe anticipation, or maybe, most likely, the silent adrenaline felt just before the start of a fight – buzzing through his flesh like a tide of sound waves. He noticed now his heart was out of control.

"What d'you think?" he breathed out, trying to relax against the back of the booth.

"You want to know what I think?" his father muttered, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

"That may have been my intention when I asked."

Billy was silent for a moment, eyes lost in the distance, while the rhythm of Jacob's heartbeat gradually slowed down to its normal pace.

Finally, leaning forward, he poised his elbows over the table, hands clasped in front of his mouth as if in prayer.

"I think you and that boy are destined to fight like dog and cat."

**()**

The next day, Carlisle took Edward with him to the hospital in order to have his blood tested. The mystery of his unexpected change had yet to be unveiled, and besides he wanted to be fully sure that there were no dormant viruses, no sleeping diseases, in his newly warm, vulnerable body.

Even if that meant being so close to the flowing warmth of the boy's blood and having to draw it himself.

Thankfully, the scent of antiseptics subdued the bittersweetness of Edward's scent, already mingled during his shower with the ersatz fragrances of hygiene products, though Carlisle could still feel deep in his throat something like an itch, a prelude to the actual fire, which was why he stood up to open the window of his office, allowing in the scent of a world washed clean by the recent rain.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a shiver run faint and quick like a casual shock through Edward's upper body.

"Chief Swan invited us over for supper this evening," he said, as he let himself fall onto the stool that faced the side of the armchair where Edward was sitting. Waiting.

(This, too, was an attempt at self-distraction.)

Green eyes glanced up at him above dark, worrying circles.

"I gather that he is the man who found me," Edward said, a demand for confirmation poised over his voice.

Carlisle replied with a nod, the spectrum of his senses captured suddenly, almost in its entirety, by the sight of Edward's flesh exposed, pale, with freckles dispersed like lone stars across the tender inside of his forearm. Ice-blue veins trembled beneath the skin in time with his pulse, an idle rhythm not unlike a fatigued drawl.

"He's also your soon-to-be father-in-law," he told him then, slowly, cautiously, and Edward's heartbeat lost its steadiness, the consistency of its pace, as an undefinable look settled onto his face, almost wan under the fluorescence of the hospital's lighting.

"I'm engaged," he said, almost as if trying to test the flavor of the discovery in his twisting mouth, and Carlisle came upon the realization that he wasn't pleased with it – at all. "I suppose we must fix that."

"Edward…" Apprehension molded the tone of Carlisle's voice. "You haven't even met Bella yet."

"And wouldn't it be a mistake to marry her under such circumstances?"

Smiling despite the imminence of the dreaded moment, Carlisle rubbed the inside of the other's elbow with a piece of soaked cotton. Arranged marriages were certainly not unheard of where Edward came from, and yet there was not a shadow of doubt that he highly disapproved of them.

"Well… I think you ought to give her a chance at least. Close your hand."

Silence let itself hang over their thoughts like a shield, Carlisle's breath gone static inside his lungs while the needle pushed past yielding skin, while it pierced through the vein, while the sound and sight of dark blood gushing into the inside of the syringe ate away at the hanging frays of the fabric of his human self.

After taping the small wound on Edward's arm, he allowed himself to free a short, careful exhale.

"And what if it turns out that I don't fancy her?" Edward asked, and indeed the question rang out through the distance between them like a quiet challenge, but Carlisle took notice of the curiosity in the boy's voice as well.

He laced his fingers together between his knees, as an image of Charlie's resent splayed so brazenly on his aging face flashed through his head.

"I think you two are meant to be together."

"Don't," Edward snapped, and the little color that'd been showing on his face drained away, his body gone tense, and if it weren't for the sudden glass-like coating over his green eyes he would sharply look like a vampire again. But after a moment, after an exhale that seemed to make all of him cave in, he whispered, "Please."

"It's alright," Carlisle said, silently reeling, wondering how on Earth his words could've triggered such a reaction. "No one is going force you to do anything, but… To answer your question, if it _does_ turn out that you don't fancy Bella, then it's very likely that she will be very upset."

Edward frowned, his posture shifting radically, abruptly, as the corner of his mouth lifted in a bemused smile. "Are you trying to manipulate me?"

He flinched back almost as if he'd been put under attack, until it dawned on him that indeed his chosen method of persuasion fell into the webs of immorality. Still, he denied it.

"No, I was answering your question."

"You were answering my question in opposition to what you'd previously said, that nobody would force me to do anything, hence the 'but'."

"It wasn't my intention to–" Carlisle's voice died in his throat when he saw the shrewd, almost mischievous glint in the other's eyes.

"You needn't worry, Carlisle. I'm not horribly offended. I know you mean well."

"The way I went about it wasn't the most correct. I'm sorry," he said, not very sorry at all. If humans had a careless, almost compulsive tendency to lie and omit and influence others through any such ways, vampires were _definitely_ a dozen times more prone to it.

Edward stood up, pushing down the sleeve of his woolen sweater.

"The way we go about things doesn't always please everyone, which is rather a pity but also the truth. There's little left to do other than try to compensate them for it." Here he paused, his gaze darting up and carrying with it an open apology. "I'm sorry for yesterday. My intervention was– brash."

He begged to differ, to actually thank him for it. There had been very few times throughout his existence when he'd felt cornered, and yesterday had been one of them. Hostility in general and more particularly the Quileutes' hostility were without a doubt some of the hardest things for him to handle.

"Don't worry about it." Carlisle poised his hand over the top of Edward's back while leading him out of the office, and felt his body shiver under his touch. "I understand that you must have felt… threatened, perhaps."

Bronze eyebrows moved closer together above disagreeing eyes.

"Well, if I may be completely honest," Edward said haltingly, "I thought their approach was overall improper."

Sympathy beat wetly inside him, like a balm being splashed onto his ribcage. He felt… not so alone in the company of Edward's views and maybe– maybe even beside the courage that Carlisle lacked to speak out regardless of how his words could cause others to paint him.

But even with this in mind, he couldn't bring himself to openly agree with him.

"I know that Jacob can seem rather impulsive at times, but… He's still young, despite his appearance."

"_Quel rapport…_" Edward muttered under his breath, before coming to a halt and turning to face him. "Nevertheless, Carlisle, I still think that for the representatives of the signatory of a treaty, their overbearing attitude towards another signatory is simply unwarranted. Unless, of course, there is a clause in this treaty which dictates that you must comply with all their demands."

"There isn't, but…" There was that feeling again, like the invisible, mute presence of another universe intercepting with theirs, like at the crossing point a revolution was giving the first signs of starting. "You remember what Jacob said. If I hadn't called to arrange a meeting, they would've… A war could've broken out."

The revelation appeared somehow to make Edward's very metabolism stagger.

"Because of a mere suspicion?" he stammered out, incredulous, before skepticism fell over his brow. "I find that extremely hard to believe, Carlisle. For numerous reasons. And, forgive me if this is too bold an assumption, but… I think it's quite clear that they take advantage of your leniency."

A murmuring commotion invaded the corridors of the previously deserted hospital, as the rows of plastic chairs in the waiting room began to be filled with early risers. Carlisle recognized two of them: a hypochondriac and a lonely single mother who (if he didn't know better) could be thought to have the same problem as the first.

"That may be so," he said after a moment, "but it's best not to add fuel to the fire." His daughter's BMW flashed in his peripheral vision, its red color bright and almost provocative amidst the faded paint of the other cars in the parking lot, and though the conversation was not overly stressful he felt thankful for its sudden appearance. "Emmett and Rosalie are waiting for you."

Edward nodded and put on his navy-blue raincoat, with a quick glance at the head of blond hair on the other side of the car window.

"Carlisle," he sighed after he'd wrapped his scarf around that thin, pale, pulsing neck, and the doctor's too-focused, darkening gaze snapped up to his face. "I do realize this isn't the most enjoyable topic, and I'm not trying to replace your methods with my idea of what would be better, but if you wouldn't mind listening…"

He smiled. As pleasantly as he could. "Of course."

"I– I've seen this before," Edward breathed out, his green eyes surprisingly– sad. "Countries invading others' territory and then underhandedly trying to destabilize non-belligerent nations. Perhaps if the United States had taken on a more… intimidating stance from the beginning… Perhaps if our enemies had been made aware of the likely consequences of their attempts to undermine us, then maybe we wouldn't have gone to war at all."

Carlisle was rendered still, his mind struck suddenly, shockingly, by the global-scale immensity of the reality that Edward had lived, that he was still living, and sensing deep inside a shard of ancient guilt moving around, handled by some other thought in the back of his mind which he couldn't yet reach.

"I think I understand what you mean." (He did. Of course he did.) "Thank you, son. I'll see you this evening."

"Until then…" Edward murmured, and then, almost awkward, added, "Have a nice day at work."

With that, he turned to walk out into the growing cold of the ending morning, drawing the hood of his raincoat over his head as the light misty rain thickened into a torrential downpour.

**()**

**A.N.: Ok, people, that's the second chapter. I hope you've enjoyed it, though I'm not overly happy about it, because, eh, where's the tragic break-up, right? I thought it'd be best not to write it as a final segment, but, yeah, next chapter will probably feature it. And for those who hoped that Jacob would imprint, I guess this might have been rather disappointing, but the good news is that I ship them very hard. So there. Feedback is much appreciated as always!**


	4. Liebestraum Interrupted

Carlisle came home to a sight that warmed the heart and suffused the vacuum where his soul had once been with a ghostly sort of nostalgia, pale and faint against the revival of Edward's piano-playing.

The music breathed into all the rooms of the house, gliding across the walls and the floorboards and the grittiness of Carlisle's state of mind, smoothing it down like a caressing touch. Curious and elated, he moved towards the source of the sound, taking off his coat and scarf along the way.

Edward was sitting in front of the grand piano, gripped and lovely as his pale fingers fell onto the smooth ivories and tired sunshine sprawled across the black lid, making the edge flash brighter than the snow-covered peak of a mountain. Underneath, the strings of the polished Steinway trembled through the notes, sweet and measured like the stages of a love fantasy.

Carlisle leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched his son play. In the tender, molten light of sunset, the expanse of pale skin running down his neck and over the curves of his collarbones seemed softer than ever, cream-colored like the flesh of a fresh peach, and beneath the thin wool of his sweater, the counters of his slim body pulsed and shifted as if orchestrated by the music, sharp shoulder-blades moving closer together in tempo with a shorter gap between scales, feet pressing down on the pedals to draw out the notes, heart gasping out his ecstasy through the pumping of his blood, and the whole of him seeming suddenly, overwhelmingly, vibrant.

It made Carlisle think back to the time when he was still a vampire. A recent past that seemed astonishingly remote now, astonishingly… faint_,_ like an old French noir, all greyscales and drowsy philosophy.

It was as if the same picture had been leeched of color and then imbued with it once again.

"I missed this one," Esme whispered behind him, her fingers gentle as they pushed into the narrow space between his bicep and flank, coming up to rest over his chest.

Smiling down at her, petite and divine in her salmon sateen dress, Carlisle wrapped an arm around her shoulders and looked back up at Edward, as his head swung and dithered so subtly between the allegros and agitatos of Liszt's melody.

Clearly, the music pulled something from deep within his body. Something that his vampire self had been able to pour out with undeniable ease. It was a something that highlighted the difference between the manner in which his vampire infallibility used to hold the notes together in its ever-present grasp and the way his now human condition ran alongside the flow of the composition like a child panting after the shadow of a kite.

Because, Carlisle remembered suddenly, for a human, playing the piano required effort. And concentration. And constant practice. And other things without which talent could not truly thrive.

"It used to be one of your favorites," he said quietly, and taking her deeper into the shadowed part of the room, he poised his hand over the small of her back and held her hand near his silent heart. "We could've danced all night to this if Edward hadn't played something else."

Esme's chest trembled against his as she chuckled, remembering the party after their wedding. Edward had played to the eternal aftertaste of the ceremony of their union, filling the summer night with a gentle sort of euphoria, while they danced outside under a sky speckled with jewel-like stars.

"I think the Denali sisters were getting a bit restless…"

Indeed. Tanya seemed ready to drag Edward off the bench when the jazz band finally arrived.

Carlisle breathed in the scent of caramel hair, silk-soft against his marble face, while Esme's body moved impossibly closer, all soft angles and gentle curves. Slowly, they swayed to the sounds echoing through the house, like they had decades ago, and Carlisle recalled suddenly the feeling of her white dress under his splayed palm.

Together, they danced unbidden in the grey darkness of the living room, reminiscent and quiet like after making love, captured inside a bubble of intimacy.

Until, abruptly, almost dizzyingly fast, the music came to a sudden halt.

In the harsh silence that followed, the languid July air that'd travelled across time and space and fallen over them like a blanket flew out of the room as if sucked into a vortex, leaving an uncomfortable void in its wake, and Esme stilled in her husband's arms.

Carlisle took a step back, turning his head towards the place where his son sat, wide-eyed and strangely, unbearably quiet.

His heart was racing.

"Oh, dear, please go on," Esme said lightly, in spite of the minute quiver that wound through her voice. The persistence of Edward's confusing silence seemed to send her back to yesterday, when he didn't yet know her name.

Large and framed by the beginnings of a frown, his green eyes flickered between them two, almost– childlike in their addled staring. Carlisle watched him with a growing sense that the boy had just seen something entirely new, something entirely incomprehensible, and put some more distance between him and his mate in the hopes that – somehow – it would make things more familiar for him.

With a start, Edward blinked away his daze, his hands falling to his lap as he recomposed himself.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's alright." Esme smiled. "Just pretend we're not here."

Carlisle frowned inwardly when Edward sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his body tense as if wanting to curl in on itself. A look like broken glass covered the limpid green of his eyes when he turned back to the ivory keys, gone too late to escape Carlisle's notice.

When he began to play again, a different composition by the same composer, the notes seemed to hurry past the tempo markings on the music sheets, almost as if in a rush to get to the end, slowing down at times like he'd just managed to catch them and hold them back, and all of this made the atmosphere inside the house shift completely, the mood that'd settled over Carlisle losing itself in the midst of his growing worry.

At some point he thought he should call Charlie to postpone their dinner plans, but then decided against it. Edward himself would probably insist on going if he knew of his reasons to cancel them.

Because of course he wouldn't allow himself to shy away from a compromise, no matter how insignificant it was, even if it meant pushing back his tiredness. And there was no doubt in mind that Edward _was _tired. Carlisle could see it clearly in the drooping outline of his shoulders and the faint bruises under his eyes, and it bothered him beyond normal comprehension.

This was another, more unsettling sort of tiredness.

"It's getting late," Esme said behind him, handing him his overcoat with a slight, almost barren smile.

Indeed, dusk was quickly disappearing under an expanse of azure-blue sky beyond the glass doors on the other side of the room, looking over the forest behind their house, and the position of the hour hands on his wristwatch told him that it really was time to get going.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" he asked.

"That's okay," Esme sighed under the careful brush of his fingers against her cheek. "Only one person playing with their food raises enough questions."

They left a few minutes later, after Edward had ceased playing. The breeze that swept over the treetops blew through the maze of his copper locks as they walked out into the clear evening, carrying with it the scent of vaporizing rain, and Carlisle remembered suddenly that the following days would be replete with sunlight and clear skies.

Replete with chances to give away their nature at some point.

Usually, they withdrew most slyly from the human world and went hunting on days like these, but of course everything was markedly different now and, _yes_, Edward knew they weren't human, but–

Between running the risk of being seen with their skin shimmering blindingly and disappearing completely from the house for most of the week, there wasn't much space for Carlisle to maneuver himself and his coven.

Though the second option was at least– justifiable.

"Esme and I are going on a trip tomorrow," he announced, his voice piercing sharply through the silence inside the car.

Edward moved his gaze off the window, shifting in his seat to look at him, and Carlisle felt deep in his stomach a pricking urge to hide away from those green eyes, staring at him like searchlights amidst the blue dark.

"Oh," he said. "Will you be gone for long?"

"Just a few days." Facundity painted his tongue silver and bright as he went on, "I was invited to give a lecture at Stanford in California, and Esme decided it'd be a good idea to come along and visit some acquaintances in the meantime, because, you see: we haven't been there in years…"

This _was _true, and so were the warming memories he had of some of the nights he'd spent there with his wife. If Edward's semi-dormant gift did indeed work as he thought, then the chances of him knowing he was lying were scarce.

"I'm sure you will have a lovely time," Edward said, with a refined smile stretching across his lips.

"Alice and Jasper are coming with us," Carlisle added after a moment, "only they're planning on staying in San Francisco for a while. Of course, this is if you don't mind…" Here his voice softened significantly, finely alluding to the elephant in the room. "I understand if you think you need some company at this stage."

"But–" Edward cut himself off with a blush, his eyes dropping down to the center console as his hand tightened into a fist, the knuckles sharp and white against the leather of the seat.

"What?"

Huffing out a strained chuckle, he looked up. "I was going to pry. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I'm fine with whatever you'd like to ask."

Except what they actually were if _not_ human.

"It's just," he started, "Emmett and Rosalie… I assume they're staying behind. I was just wondering, because… Alice and Jasper are clearly– sweethearts. I was wondering if Rosalie and Emmett also…"

"They're together, yes," Carlisle said, frowning at his son's evident unease.

"And are they staying behind?"

"Well, they're not coming with us, but they usually go camping by themselves when the weather is warmer, so…" He raised his shoulders in a shrug that denoted unawareness, and then recalled Rosalie's coldness towards someone who obviously couldn't understand it. For Edward her harsh, silent indifference the night before had probably seemed downright daunting. "If this is about Rosalie, though, you shouldn't worry. I've talked to her already, and I can assure you that she won't bother you at all."

Edward furrowed his eyebrows. "I wasn't thinking she _would_."

"Her refusal to even speakto you must certainly be more than slightly bothersome, Edward."

The other grimaced in disagreement. "I really don't mind. I understand."

Carlisle's head snapped back to his. "You do?"

Exaggeratedly, he thought that was halfway to figuring out their secret, until Edward gave a slight shrug, as if the reason for her behavior was completely normal.

"It's her house. Accepting me there is not mandatory."

The tires of his Mercedes screeched painfully when he pressed down on the brake, and Edward jolted forward as if pushed by an invisible hand. Charlie's house peered modest and timid at them from around the corner, the faded paint of Bella's truck flashing bluntly like a silver sheet covered in fine rust under the open moonlight, and Carlisle decided to leave the car like that, already so near the sidewalk that nobody would doubt he'd just parked it.

It actually didn't matter any; he couldn't care less – not when the glaring hues of Edward's perspective were crashing right into his retinas.

"Edward," he grated, the name brought – ripped – from the bottom of his lungs. "It's your house, too."

He should have thought about… He should have known it would be like this. Of course for him this was just his son made human through some unknown process, but for Edward–

Things were just different_._

But even if he didn't feel like he belonged, Carlisle could always do what he did best. Show him that he was more than willing to share. To take him in like– a _son_. Of course. He couldn't expect Edward to be fully accepting of this new life as a Cullen when he had no memories of it – he had to guide him into the right mindset.

So, taking in a deep, readying breath, he opened his mouth to speak, to tell him he was family, always welcome, but before he could utter a single word Edward let out a dry, curt, "No."

Carlisle snapped his mouth shut, his resolution sent astray by the cutting hardness of Edward's green eyes. Under the streetlight that poured through the window, the rings around his expanded pupils seemed paler than ever, like frosted meadows.

"I don't understand."

"It isn't my house," the other said. "My house is in Chicago."

"It's been sold, Edward. Probably more than once."

Guilt seeped like acid into the pit of Carlisle's stomach upon the boy's quiet gasp. There was that look again, a sudden tightness around his eyes while the set of his shoulders moved to close in on his chest as if wanting to protect it, and he wanted to reach out for his face and make him _understand._

He hadn't meant to just– lay the truth down so bare and cold like that.

"We should go," Edward whispered, the whole of his body still looking small and fragile like never before, and Carlisle wondered if this was it.

The catalyst.

The denseness of an oncoming storm breathed heavily through his veins, and he poised his hand over his son's shrinking shoulder like an anchor, hoping it would secure them both.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly, trying to look Edward in the eye, but the boy had his gaze cast down, the poking bone under Carlisle's hand shifting slightly as if the weight was just _too much. _"We can just go home. Charlie will understand."

"No." The sound of his rough voice rang out through the tension inside the car as if scraped by glass shards. "We're _going_. We're having dinner with them."

"Son–"

"I'm not your son!" Edward snapped, flinching back from the white hand that wanted so desperately to curl around his arm and hold him there, so he'd just not– push others away.

But, even with a latent ache pounding inside him, Carlisle drew back, his palms upturned, ghost-white amidst the darkness of night.

"Alright," he murmured, the hurt throbbing within showing on his stance and face past his acquiescence. "Alright. If you don't want me to call you that–"

"N-no… I–" Edward's breath caught in his throat, and Carlisle could only sit in silence and be rendered still by the sight of his eyes shimmering wet and the delicate breadth of his ribcage convulsing beneath the fine fabric of his sweater.

The small, single tear that glinted translucent over the freckled swell of his cheekbone.

"I need air," he gasped out through what Carlisle imagined to be a painful lump near the back of his mouth, and suddenly he threw the door open, slipping out of the car as if the earth was shaking and the sky spinning into a dizzying swirl and everything just falling apart.

Dazed and left reeling, Carlisle called out for him, faintly, and stared after his son's back as he walked trembling and unbalanced into the velvety darkness of night.

**()**

The atmosphere inside Charlie's house was leaden with silent questions.

They hung in the dense air like sleeping moths under the warm glow that fell from the ceiling, buzzed along the phantasmagoric light coming off the television screen, and made Charlie and Bella's silence seem almost unbearably loud as they all sat in the living room, waiting and pretending to watch the news.

(Pretending that whatever the hell had happened minutes before was little more than a casual occurrence.)

Images and sounds rained upon Carlisle's senses when he focused on what was playing out on the screen, hoping to distract himself. The voice of the reporter and the expanse of sea just behind her didn't drown out his worries, but at least, as he registered her words, he remembered that for humans most things were ephemeral, like laws, like scandals, and so Edward's refusal to accept the present as it was would eventually, hopefully, fade away like the rest…

"Can't believe they're going over this again," Charlie muttered. In his peripheral vision, Carlisle saw Bella lift her idle eyes off her knees and then let them fall again after seeing what her father was talking about, and thought suddenly, for the first time, of how between her and his son there was a stark, black-white contrast.

Even as a vampire, at least before all his attention had turned to his mate, Edward used to watch the news, striving frequently to know what was happening around the world even if it didn't concern him.

Just one more thing that'd stayed with him through his change.

"I was under the impression that the court had changed the ruling," he said, conversational, as if his vampire memory and mental precision could ever lie about the true state of things.

He knew, of course, that the federal court hadn't changed their ruling, even after the Makah tribe's requests that they do so. The people from Neah Bay still weren't allowed to hunt whales after the judge-panel had put the hunts on hold indefinitely, and not a single attempt on the tribe's part to change that throughout the past four years had managed to convince the judges to give them the permission they needed.

"Well, apparently not," Charlie grunted out. "Or else people wouldn't be making such a big deal out of it."

Clearly, the subject had lost its interest for him, which was… understandable. Some seven years before, when the first authorized hunt in decades had taken place, protests had abounded amongst more than a few environmentalist groups across the state, and the topic had been on the agenda for a while.

And now that these protests were crashing again into the eyes and ears of the local media, humans, impatient and allergic to repetitions, huffed upon their resurrection.

Only this time it could be said that things were– different. This time the protests were focusing in on the illegality of the most recent hunt.

Carlisle hadn't had time to turn on the TV throughout the past days, but apparently it'd happened during the weekend – some members of the Makah tribe had gone out to sea and killed a whale, despite the federal court's orders.

"C-Carlisle," Bella stammered out suddenly, pulling his thoughts out of the whole mayhem about whale hunting and drawing his attention to her frenetic heart with her quiet, trembling voice. Her deep brown eyes bore wide and fearful into his. "Is Edward going to take too long?"

Carlisle shifted in his spot on the sofa. He could hear from there the clanking of a steadying heartbeat outside, the sound of someone's breaths shivering through space. The brushing of their feet against the sidewalk.

Edward had assured him that he wouldn't go very far.

"I really don't think so. He just went for some air."

"I know. You said it earlier," Bella mumbled, eyes flickering between two imaginary points on the wall, distant and dark. After a moment she looked down at her knees again, as blood rose to her cheeks. "It's just… The casserole is getting cold."

Carlisle didn't doubt it. Edward had been out there for almost twenty minutes now.

"He won't be long, I'm sure."

He really was, the certainty of his son's approaching arrival ringing through the sound of light footsteps echoing louder and louder inside his skull, a familiar scent running thicker and sweeter up his nose as on the other side of the window, where his reflection flashed bright and silvery like a moonbeam, a sliver of red hair slid quickly past his field of vision.

Mere seconds later, the doorbell chimed, startling Bella out of her thoughts. Her head snapped up as if pulled by an invisible string, and her breath caught in her throat as the blood drained from her face.

A moment went by, wasted. Neither Charlie nor Bella looked like they would open the door any time soon.

"That must be him," Carlisle said, wanting to wake them from their apparent stupor by pushing himself off the sofa.

Seeing that his daughter didn't seem too eager to let her boyfriend in, Charlie stood up, unable to let a guest complete a task that was his responsibility only.

"I'll go," he muttered, and disappeared slowly into the dimly-lit hall.

An overwhelming exhale poured into the house when the door whined open. An exhale carrying with it a smell like balm mint and at the tail a faint waft of salt-water and exhaustion. Bella shivered upon the sound of feet falling closer and closer, and Carlisle smiled encouragingly at her, hoping to get her to smooth down her worries in front of someone who was worried enough.

She breathed out nervously in return, and stood up quickly as her father came into the room.

Edward appeared just behind him, his hair gleaming fluidly under the warm living room lighting as if recently imbued in a tawny port. The line of his spine had straightened out, dipping elegantly at the small of his back, and his shoulders had rolled back, stronger and stiffer than Carlisle had ever seen them. His green eyes, cold as jade, looked around for less than a second before settling upon Bella's blank face.

There was a moment of fizzing tension between them, like the presence of one of them was interfering with the other and sending out a burst of white noise, until Carlisle stepped into view, always the mitigating factor.

"Edward," he said, drawing his son's attention to him, "This is Bella, Chief Swan's daughter."

"Oh. Good evening," he said, moving closer and extending his hand in spite of her sheer immobility. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Good– Hi," Bella stammered, her face flushing while her hand reached out for his, trembling as if it would bite her. "'S a pleasure to meet you, too."

His palm curved gently around her delicate fingers.

Suddenly inhaling through her teeth, she looked up at him as though he were heat personified and took a step back, almost immediately, like the warm softness of his skin had burnt painfully into her flesh.

Carlisle remembered then that of course she'd already known him, that Edward _knew_ that she'd already known him, and almost winced in plain sympathy.

"I must apologize for the terrible wait. There's absolutely no reason for you to be having dinner so late…"

"Now, kid, don't worry about it," Charlie said. He waved towards the dining room, where the smell of human food wisped ominously. "But, please– I don't know about you, but I could eat a horse right now."

Bella was the first to move, escaping the smothering tangles of her anxiety by following her father into the room. Carlisle dawdled behind her, the weight of an unfinished conversation weighing like lead on his chest when Edward began to walk past him.

Carefully, he touched the inside of the other's elbow, feeling a slight mount beneath his fingertips, the minor elevation of the bandage that he had put there himself that same morning.

"Edward," he murmured, and the faintness of his accent weaved stronger now through his quiet voice. "Are you okay?"

Green eyes wavered between the painting on the wall and the chicken casserole that lay untouched on the dining table.

"I'm– alright," the boy whispered, and then, letting his gaze settle upon Carlisle's worried face, with the skin of his cheeks going pink and warm in the golden lamplight, he added, "I'm sorry about… what happened. I had no right to speak to you so harshly."

"It's fine–"

"It's not," Edward said quickly, the seriousness in his wide, feline eyes compelling him to simply nod in acceptance, but right afterwards, with a wave of his white hand, Carlisle urged the boy to move forward, past the apology and what had happened and into the dining room.

The air was thinner there, easier to breathe in, despite the smell of human food. Charlie's obliviousness and usual casualty made every sound, every tinkle of the silverware and every grunt, seem increasingly, thankfully light.

The whole ambience also accommodated Carlisle's need to speak up. Hold a conversation. It was the way in which he'd taught his children to ward off unwanted attention and distract humans from the fact that they were eating very little if nothing at all.

"I just remembered, Charlie: there was an accident recently in the center of town. I treated one of the people involved."

The chief of Forks' police department swallowed down a mouthful of chicken as he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yeah, I heard about it at the station. I didn't go, because I had some paperwork to take care of, but the guys were saying it was a drunk kid. Drove past a red light and crashed against a lady coming home from work." He shook his head, frowning bitterly. "Crazy, isn't it? I should be checking for more of those strange high school parties. Kids these days just can't contain themselves. You think your children are safe in a small place like this, and then these things happen…"

"Dad," Bella cut in, sounding inexplicably embarrassed. "It was _just _an accident."

Charlie gulped down a mouthful of water, giving her a hard look.

"Accidents are no light matter, Bells. Do you know how many people die on the road every year?"

"_Yes,_" she said more loudly, "but it's not by controlling what people do at parties that you're going to solve the problem. These things will happen anyway. Sometimes people just aren't careful…"

"Driving while intoxicated does account for at least a part of all the situations when people aren't _careful_," Edward said, and father and daughter whipped their heads towards the source of his voice, their eyes dark and wide in the face of his unexpected intervention, "… so that's a bit of a contradiction."

This last part was uttered lowly, as if he were resting his case while casually puncturing a piece of his meal with the silver spikes of his fork. Despite his words, he seemed thoroughly detached from the conversation, naturally aloof in that way that people from Nordic cultures so often appeared to be.

Bella stilled, her fragile knuckles rising like blades beneath her pale skin as her hand tightened into a fist. Even Carlisle grimaced inwardly upon the complete lack of warmth in Edward's manner, so different now that he felt no affection for her. That he didn't remember her as anything more than a recent acquaintance.

"What I meant," she huffed out, her skin reddening slightly, "was that a simple distraction can cause an accident."

"Of course," Edward agreed, though as if there was no actual interest or significance to her statement. Carlisle saw his own thoughts mirrored on the boy's stance then, because even for _him_ the conversation was becoming increasingly redundant. "But a lot of tragedies _can_ be helped. So perhaps Chief Swan is right in thinking that there should be more supervision."

Charlie raised a winning eyebrow. "See?"

Bella sighed, like their way of thinking was sucking the fight out of her.

"You're all just overreacting."

Edward cast her an unimpressed glance from the corner of his eye, bringing the edge of his glass to his lips, and looked down at his plate again with a sharp whoosh of his long lashes.

"Well," Carlisle said, refusing to let words die down and his untouched food become the subject of some other, more awkward, conversation. "It _is _true that it will be safer to drive tomorrow. Or the next few days. Strange – I thought there was a storm coming when I woke up this morning."

The weather was always a safe topic amongst humans. At least in most of the small towns where he'd been.

"I did, too," Charlie echoed. "It's a good thing they're saying it'll be warm this weekend. Billy and I usually go fishing." Here a thoughtful expression crawled beneath the skin of his face, and his eyes lit up somewhat. "You could come with us tomorrow."

Carlisle urged his own mind to quench the sudden anxiety that welled up inside him. Edward's gaze had regained its attentive vividness, and now swung carefully between the two men with a feline sort of alertness, sharp enough to cut through his secret.

"Actually," he said, letting a false apology poise over his mouth. "Esme and I are travelling down to California tomorrow. I'm expected to give a lecture at Stanford University."

"Oh." Charlie raised his thick eyebrows, shaken by the abysmal difference between the nature of their plans. "Stanford, huh? Alright, then. What about you, Edward? You doing something this weekend?"

Surprise flourished amidst the bright green of the boy's eyes, as if he hadn't expected to be addressed so directly. His feet rustled slightly beneath the table, the sound going unnoticed by the two other humans in the room.

"I haven't decided yet, actually."

A closed reply. It was almost obvious that he was already rejecting any idea that Bella's father might've had in mind.

"Well, Bella is not doing anything either, I think. She could show you around. Get you… acquainted with the town."

_Again. _Charlie didn't say it outright, but it was as if he had, and Carlisle sensed a subtle change in Edward's posture, his body tensing as though he were being put under open examination.

_Always too perceptive for his own comfort._

"Oh," he said, glancing quickly at Bella's worried face, the reluctance around her mouth. "No, I couldn't possibly steal her time like that."

"I'm going to La Push anyway," the girl added, a blush crawling up her neck as she looked up at Carlisle through her thick lashes.

(How odd that before then and when Carlisle wasn't present she'd never been embarrassed about her constant excursions.)

"To visit Jacob?" Charlie asked, a small smile bending his lips upward beneath the hairs of his moustache. Bella nodded slightly, her eyes cast down. "That's good to hear. He'll be happy to see you, Bells."

"Yeah. He will."

"That doesn't mean you can't take Edward with you," he said, raising an urging eyebrow. Carlisle couldn't help noticing that the way he referred to his son now was distinctly friendlier than ever, but he didn't quite know how to feel about it. "I'm sure he could use some company at this point."

Edward froze. His eyes looked dense and colder than hard rime when he looked up at Charlie, framed by a blank, opaque mask.

"I'm alright, actually."

"Rosalie and Emmett will still be around," Carlisle cut in, hoping to soften the echo of his son's gelid tone. He smiled at Charlie in gratitude. "Nevertheless, thank you for the suggestion."

The chief merely grunted in response, his eyes straying sporadically towards the spot where Edward sat, tense and quiet and exuding an aura so crisp that it pushed the thought of addressing him once more out of the man's head.

Carlisle refrained from speaking as well. He feared that eventually someone would slip up and try to include his son in the conversation, calling forth the same wintry breeze that'd just swept over them.

He struggled to understand how in a matter of minutes Edward's whole demeanor had changed.

Barely an hour ago he had seemed heartbreakingly frail and broken and on the verge of crashing beneath the weight of his family's death, and now– now it was as if there was no point in trying to approach him. As if nothing could touch him.

He was as solid and unmoving as an ice sculpture.

Carlisle held his breath when at last the boy spoke, only to herald the downfall of what he used to worship. To _live_ for.

"Bella," he called lowly, the sound of his voice making her stop dead in her tracks. "Is there a place where we can talk? Privately."

From his spot on the sofa, Carlisle saw her lips part in anticipation, her heart thrum faster and faster within her ribcage. She bit her lip and nodded, moving towards the front door with Edward trailing right after her, and soon enough they were both standing outside, out of sight but not out of hearing range.

Carlisle could hear them speak as if they were inside his own head, could hear every shift of their breathing like a wind running sharp through his skull.

"What is it?" Her voice was thin, scared and yet expectant.

A long exhale followed. He could imagine Edward's lips twisting in displeasure, unwilling to release his next words but still disciplined enough to get through with it.

"Carlisle told me that I asked for your hand."

"Yeah," she whispered, so anxiously that nobody would believe she'd denied his request time and time again if they could listen to her now.

Carlisle felt unwind in his belly a satisfied kind of warmth then, almost sinful in its nature – pettily but spontaneously, he recalled the proverb that said that God gave nuts to those who had no teeth, and thought of how little she'd done to secure Edward's presence in her life.

And now, even if she didn't know it, he was slipping away from her loose grasp and taking all that he'd offered to give her in spite of anything she might say.

"I'm afraid we'll have to break the agreement."

There was that detached finality in his voice again, a tone that blocked out any chance of him being dissuaded. While he absently chatted with Charlie, Carlisle faltered in his speech as he heard it once more, crystal-clear, and his hand coiled tight into a fist in his lap.

By now he couldn't decide whether he was afraid or thrilled. The paradoxical significance of this moment sent phantom shivers down his spine, because–

As vampire and human Edward and Bella had gravitated towards each other like magnets, compelled by the force of their mating bond to love one another as if there was no other choice, and now… Now they were both human, loose luminaries in a Nietzschean sky, with no threads binding them together, and once they drifted apart–

"Oh," Bella chuckled, sounding unexplainably relieved. "That's actually… Great. I tried to convince you there was no point in getting married, but you wouldn't listen."

Now Carlisle felt a drop of fear fall cold and heavy into the pit of his stomach. There was always a chance that his decision would make her regress into the almost catatonic state in which she'd been left when Edward had split with her months before, and there was always a chance that Edward would bend under the sight of her so broken and lost.

"Well, we'll have to agree to disagree. I do believe there is a point to marriage, Miss Sw–Bella, but… I'm afraid you've misunderstood me."

He seemed to wait for realization to dawn on her. Meanwhile, Charlie mumbled on about the baseball game that was showing on the bright television screen, while Carlisle carved crescent moons into his palms and while Bella's heartbeat sped up and Edward's breathing remained leveled.

"You're breaking up with me," she said, not in a questioning tone but as a statement, and right afterwards she drew in a sharp breath as her scent thickened. "You've– you've done this before, you know! And it didn't work. It's no use, Edward: if you leave again, you'll just end up coming back."

Carlisle turned his head almost inevitably, the urge to leap off the sofa and set them apart pounding like a clock inside him.

"Well, if that is so, Bella, I suppose things will work out for the best when we cross paths again sometime in the future, because at the moment I don't feel any sort of divine force pushing me towards you."

"You're just being stubborn. Why can't you accept things as they are?"

Charlie stopped watching the game to look over at the hallway that led to the front door, through which the sound of Bella's voice filtered louder and louder.

"Excuse me?" Edward said, almost as if he were flinching back from her unexpected accusation.

"All I want is to be with you, but you keep fighting against the inevitable. Why can't you just _stop_?"

"What the hell?" Charlie grumbled. He pushed himself off the sofa as if it'd been set on fire. "What on Earth is going on out there with those two?"

Carlisle followed the chief as he walked hurriedly towards the front door, towards his distressed daughter, unaware that while she rose her voice and tears spilled down her cheeks and reality as she knew it began to spirit away as though it had all been a dream–

While all of this happened, Edward's breaths were becoming increasingly fast, increasingly harsh, his heartbeat drumming unsteady beneath the bandalore movement of his chest.

"Bells." Charlie put his arms around her wavering shoulders. "It's okay. Calm down."

Carlisle moved quickly towards Edward's side, desperate to transfer some of his usual serenity to him through his touch. His hand came up to poise over the boy's forearm, but with a jerk of his shoulder Edward stepped back, his pupils blown impossibly over the green of his eyes.

"Let go of me!" Bella choked out, slipping away from her father's hold.

Carlisle smelled salt-water in the thickening night air, the hotness of the scent making the back of his mouth ache. The worrying pattern of his son's breathing pulled the focus of his eyes towards the boy's face, pale and stricken beneath the hard front that he'd built up over it and which was now crumbling like a house of cards, falling apart upon the turn of events.

Chaos had settled in so fast that the stars above seemed to spiral across the sky, the paths of these two people cleared away from their bright, astronomical canvases, and Edward couldn't possibly understand anything past all the confusion and anguish of the present, but Carlisle knew–

He knew, when he heard Bella's cries escorting the sound of her footsteps across the concrete and the creaking of the stairs as she climbed up to her room in a rush, that things had changed irreversibly and fantastically and that nothing would ever be the same.

No, nothing would be the same after this – and Carlisle thanked every saint out there for that.

**()**

**A.N.: Well, that was… painful. Anyway, folks, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I promise I will **_**try **_**to post the next one sometime soon, but I can't guarantee that I will, because the next few weeks are filled with deadlines and test dates and, holy fuck, college applications as well and final exams and a lot of tears and blood shed upon the amount of shit I have to study. So, yeah. But, look, you can always make my days better if you leave a review! Right? Right.**


End file.
